


drift on the still water

by ViceroyMarx



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bisexual Moritz Stiefel, But a lot of talk of sex, Canon Era, Dialogue Heavy, Friendship, Happy Ending, I don't know if that's accurate to the setting, Lesbian Ilse, M/M, Masturbation, Me dunking on Melchior just a little for what he did to Wendla, No Pregnancy, No Smut, Nothing is super graphic, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, also this is kinda based on the deaf west production, it's not super big though, it's weed guys, no suicide, only a little though bc this is still Melchior/Moritz, unbeta'ed we die like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViceroyMarx/pseuds/ViceroyMarx
Summary: Something of a rewrite of the original where Moritz is bisexual, Ilse is the best, Wendla doesn't get pregnant (but someone still scolds Melchior for putting her at risk without her knowledge anyway), NO ONE DIES, and happy endgame Melchior/Moritz.
Relationships: Ilse Neumann & Moritz Stiefel, Melchior Gabor/Moritz Stiefel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	drift on the still water

**Author's Note:**

> title from The Wilde Swans at Coole by William Yeats because it's vaguely about autumn and I wanted that because... haha... spring... Anyway.
> 
> Trigger warning for: A little talk about abortion, because you know it had to happen, this is Spring Awakening. Period-typical homophobia including the f-slur. Sort of side-stage abuse by Moritz's father (who, I looked it up, his first name is Rentier? Okay). Also marijuana. Do I need a TW for that?
> 
> I am SO glad to finally get this horrible thing out of my drafts and into the world. I'm not fully happy with it, but I don't have the time or motivation for the total overhaul I'd like every time I reread it. 
> 
> lastly, because this is based on the deaf west version, Melchior didn't so much sexually assault Wendla as he did take advantage of a girl who didn't realize what sex meant. which, if you don't know what you're consenting to, you can't consent, so it's still noncon, but the extent isn't as bad as it is in the original (so i've heard, i've never seen it). the truth is i can't really keep it fully canon and still have Melchior be redeemable so... when you picture that awkward sex scene, have it be more enthusiastic from Wendla's side and Melchior just doesn't realize how ignorant Wendla is. still bad he doesn't bother to think about pregnancy risk, but a little better than the original? idk idk
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Moritz smiled when Melchior told him he could come over to study.

He felt deeply that it was partially out of pity that Melchior insisted on doing so, and he needed to remember that and not get his hopes up. It was hard, because hope was an attractive feeling. 

The last few minutes of class went quickly, and then he went home and prepared for a visit to the Gabor home. He brushed his hair carefully and stared into the mirror, making sure his appearance was neat.

He collected the work he intended to do and walked to Melchior's home. All his childhood friends still lived rather close together, even if Moritz didn't keep frequent contact with a majority of them.

Once he got there, Frau Gabor pushed some cookies into his hand. Apparently she'd been cooking for a special occasion at church and she always did like Moritz for some strange reason. 

Melchior stood outside his room from upstairs and shouted for Moritz to come in. He slowly made his way there, feeling guilty for some reason. Moritz was going to waste Melchior's time. He wouldn't say that outright, though, because Moritz knew it frequently upset his friends to hear him when he was in a mood.

*

"I don't understand why I do so poorly in school. I find it difficult to focus, and nothing ever comes naturally to me. I feel as though I'm destined to end up dead in a ditch somewhere with five dollars in my pocket and no identification on me so my headstone is left unmarked since no one comes to say who I am," Moritz complained.

Melchior raised his eyebrows. "You're really not doing that bad. In fact, I believe that the teachers regularly mark you worse than your work should be because they don't like you. They're wrong about the whole thing, Moritz." He sounded like he believed his words.

"Thank you, Melchior. You must admit though, I'm different from you. You just get things. You're naturally more talented than me, and no matter what I do, I cannot change that."

"I don't think it's right to base one's worth on their academic aptitude. People have talents outside of school which are often much more important. Does it matter that you've succeeded in writing an essay about an old book if you have no passion for the things you do? Or that you have the best grades of anyone in your school if you don’t know how to form meaningful relations with others?”

"I guess. I can’t really do anything else, though, either." 

"Moritz--"

He sighed. "I'm complaining too much. I'm sorry. You only have so much time, I don't mean to… to squander it."

"Moritz, I don't consider this a waste of time. I enjoy being with you. Please, don't think so lowly of yourself."

For a few seconds Moritz just stared at Melchior. "Alright, you're right, of course."

Their conversation was subdued for a few minutes, consisting purely of their coursework, and then things went back to normal. Moritz did always like to spend time near Melchior, self-worth crises aside.

*

That night, Moritz was haunted by a nightmare unfamiliar to him.

It was a pair of beautiful feminine legs in dark blue stockings, contrasting with her light brown thighs. Something about the sight was maddening. Then there were images of a pretty man, and the feeling of... champagne bubbles, perhaps, deep inside. 

Moritz woke up feeling horrible, almost in tears. It was sticky and sweaty and terrifyingly confusing. 

He'd ask Melchior about this. He didn't like to burden his friends about his troubles, but Melchior always seemed to have a better grasp on the workings of the world than he did. Always so sure of himself. 

He cleaned himself and tried to look well for school, but he still probably looked a wreck. 

*

At school he did as he'd always done: just barely scrape by. Teachers asked him a question, he scrambled for something that would satisfy them or just said "I'm sorry, I don't know." He suspected he'd done even worse today, just because he couldn't stop thinking about that nightmare. 

In the middle of Latin class, after he'd humiliated himself in front of everyone with some mistranslation, he told Melchior about the dream. 

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Melchior!"

"Nothing is wrong with you. These dreams are normal, everyone gets them. Otto dreamt about his cousin, in fact." The last sentence was said with some humor at Otto’s expense.

"Really?"

"Georg saw his piano teacher." 

"But-- I-- How do I stop them?" 

"They're not a bad thing, Moritz. But I can tell you more. I've learned quite a lot from books; indeed, it made an atheist of me."

Moritz felt himself pale. Melchior kept insisting that it wasn't sickness, but still, something about it felt so wrong. Like he was wrong. 

His declaration of atheism didn't exactly instill faith into Moritz that it was good news, either.

And then he was at Melchior's home. 

"I thought about writing an essay for you since you do get flustered so often. I even thought of a title I think is rather clever... So if this conversation proves challenging, I can still do that for you, Moritz." 

"Oh... No, I wouldn't make you do that. I just need to know... What do these dreams mean?"

"It's something called sex, Moritz. It's how humans reproduce. Basically, a man and a woman's genitals interact with each other. She has an orifice called the vaginal canal, and he, as you know, has the penis. This is then inserted. But in fact, there's quite a lot more to it! The woman has something called a 'clitoris,' which is solely for stimulation--" 

"I-- Sorry if this sounds weird, but is it possible you have any illustrations of this? It's all a bit, um, hard to fathom..."

"Of course!" Melchior pulled out a piece of paper and his pen and drew and labeled things.

"The... The inserting; that sounds like it would hurt... does it?"

"No! Not at all, Moritz. It feels quite amazing, actually-- like a little slice of paradise."

"How do you know that? Are you sure?" 

"Well, I've not yet had sex myself," he admitted. "But I am quite certain. If it doesn't feel good, then you're doing something wrong. After all, would people really do it if it hurt? The pleasure is an incentive to further populate our species. It's all very natural."

"How does this connect to my nightmare?"

"Well, when one undergoes puberty, hormones cause their bodies to change. It means that physically speaking, you're ready to have children, even if mentally you don't want to yet if ever. And then there's-- Ah, there's something called masturbation, which simply refers to stimulating one's own genitals for the sake of an orgasm. That is, a release of semen. Which is then what would go on to impregnate an egg in the woman's womb to create a fetus. It's all very healthy, and it can reduce stress and worry."

"Why have I never heard of this before?"

"Religion, mostly. Churches and priests like to say it's imperative you keep pure until marriage, but then I'm sure you've noticed I no longer attend."

Through all of this, Moritz had not mentioned the fact that he also saw a man in his dream. He wondered if he should.

"And it's always a man and a woman?" Moritz asked. 

"Generally, yes. I have heard stories--" 

"Um, Melchior, I think I have to go, actually. Thank you for-- for telling me this, it's very helpful. Goodbye!" He hurriedly said.

Without giving him much chance to respond, Moritz left the house just shy of a run and went home to process the new information. 

*

That night just before bed, anxiety in his chest, he thought, _perhaps I could..._

Moritz placed his hands over his trousers and just felt the weight. It was kind of comforting, strangely enough. He thought he was rather too afraid to do anything more just that night, but maybe it was going to be alright and these dreams would not give him a heart attack and kill him while he slept.

*

The next day was a Saturday so he decided to walk to the nearby field of trees. It always had lovely flowers to find, and sometimes his friends went there too.

When Moritz got there, he found Hanschen and Ernst sitting together. He and Ernst got on very well; Ernst was very supportive and always understood Moritz's nerves because he had the same problem. And Hanschen liked to make fun of Moritz, but it was usually in good faith and he felt that if he were truly having a problem that he could rely on Hanschen to help him. 

He greeted them and Hanschen offered him some weed. 

"Hm... Why not?" He put it to his lips and tried inhaling. He ended up coughing like a child with a respiratory infection, but it wasn't bad. The heavy, sleepy scent of marijuana floated lazily around them.

Hanschen took the blunt back. 

"How are you, Moritz?" Ernst asked. 

"I'm doing well. Um, well, actually, I had something I wanted to ask you. For no particular reason, not because I-- uh--" 

"Just say it. It's fine," Hanschen said.

"Okay. Well, have you ever thought about what would happen if two men... Uh..." He wasn't sure how to put it. Got married? Definitely not; the Church would not allow it. But he wasn't really comfortable saying the words Melchior introduced to him the day previous. 

"I think I know what you mean," Hanschen said, leaning forward on his elbows, a curious expression painted on his face. "There's nothing wrong with it. People are just people."

"If you mean what I think you mean, then I think it's... okay?" Ernst said.

"Oh." It was interesting how they seemed to have put more thought into it than Melchior had. "Um, good..." 

And the conversation moved on. Moritz actually did feel a little better, surprisingly.

*

Moritz didn't bring up sex the next time he spoke to Melchior. The whole thing was... He didn't know. But Melchior didn't bring it up either, and things stayed the same.

*

"Melchior, may I do your hair?" Moritz asked Melchior. Perhaps an odd request, but Ilse always liked to touch his hair and braid parts and it was quite a pleasant experience. Moritz liked the thought of making Melchior happy.

"Um, alright, Moritz, if you want to." 

"I do," he mumbled and sat on the edge of Melchior's bed. Melchior moved to sit on the floor in front of him.

He made sure his hands weren't sweaty and gently ran his hands through Melchior's hair. It was very fluffy and nice to touch. Moritz just played with the little strands of hair, never pulling too much. He braided little pieces, but it didn't stay very well. 

He thought this feeling was like what meditation was supposed to be. Only softly flowing thoughts of Melchior drifted through the river of his mind. 

Melchior was so pretty. His hair suited him so well, and his face was delicate and wonderfully stimulating to look at. Moritz couldn't see his face at the moment, but he remembered it in vivid detail. His voice, too. Steady. Revolutionary. Beautiful shoulders, collarbone, neck. The hands of a musician. 

"Would you mind if I took a nap, Moritz? You're making me sleepy," Melchior murmured. 

"Of course not. You should sleep on your bed," Moritz spoke softly. 

Melchior crawled onto the bed and Moritz moved over to accommodate him, but soon went back to running his hands through his hair. He didn't stop even when Melchior's breathing had evened out to sleep.

At some point, he realized it was dark out and that he'd better leave. He stared at Melchior's face for a few moments, he had such long eyelashes and cute freckles. His lips looked soft. 

Moritz gently woke him with a hand on his shoulder. "Melchior, it's night time. You should sleep under the blanket. 

Melchior opened his eyes just a sliver and silently complied. Moritz was on his way out the door when Melchior mumbled goodnight. 

Something about the whole thing felt unreal. Like a little slice of heaven.

*

Ilse meant a lot to Moritz. He was starting to realize that he really did not spend enough time with her.

Ilse told him stories and always made him feel included and never ever let him feel stupid. In a lot of ways, her teaching was easier to grasp than Melchior's (not that Moritz didn't appreciate his effort as well). 

"Ilse, I'm feeling... confused about sex. What do you think about it?" He said, and he didn't feel nervous. Ilse wouldn't judge him.

"I think it's fun if everyone involved consents completely. People are too narrow about sex. Like, gender doesn't matter. I feel like as long as it's safe to do and everyone understands what's going on, then sex is absolutely fucking awesome." 

"So you, uh, wouldn't think it's weird if I liked both boys and girls?"

"Of course not. As long as you don't think it's weird that I like women."

"I don't think you're weird at all." (This was not necessarily true, but her 'weird' was refreshing and comforting in a society that felt a little like wading through needles).

"Well, then we've come to an understanding. Anyone you've got your eye on? We can hang out at the park and I'll paint your nails as we gossip about it," she said.

He looked up at the sky, figured he had a couple hours before he was due home. "Alright, l-let's do it." 

"Oh, Moritz? Are you comfortable around drugs? I’m only asking because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable if I smoke."

"I'm okay with them. Hanschen, um, let me try some of his weed and it was fine. I don't know," Moritz said.

She nodded. "So, let's meet at the park in like fifteen minutes?"

"Alright, Ilse. See you there." 

Moritz went straight to the park since he had nothing to pick up from home. He inspected the little carved words into the bench to pass the time. 

_Ella and Peter forever_ was crossed out and just below that was _Peter K has a tiny dick._

When he saw her approaching, he asked, "Ilse, what's a dick?" 

A different person would’ve commented on how sheltered he was. Ilse was too kind for that, though. All she said was, "It’s another word for penis." 

"That makes sense." Now that he thought of it, he had heard the word used in school every now and again, just never to him. Possibly because not many people at school spoke to him at all outside of Melchior. "What are some other ones?" 

She pulled his hands toward her lap and he acquiesced easily. "I'm doing red," she told him. "And there are a lot of them. People like talking about dicks. There's 'cock,' I don't like that one; there's boner if it's hard; phallus is if you wanna be technical. Sometimes people have stupid nicknames for it, like, your Little Moritz, you know? Fun, isn't it? And for vagina there's pussy, cunt, kitten, quim, twat, and way more. I hate saying those ones, they sound gross."

"That is a lot." He hummed. "I've been feeling kind of stupid because it just feels like all my peers are ahead of me. They all know everything already. None of my parents or teachers or anyone's ever told me until I asked Melchior a few days ago."

"Melchior? He's an endearingly pretentious virgin. I love him," she laughed, "but I'm guessing all he knows is what he's read from, like, poetry books that make it sound all flowery and pure."

"Uh, yeah, exactly that. How'd you know?" 

She pulled out a blunt and let him take a drag. This time he still coughed but a lot less, and then she told him stories about sex until he had to go home. For some reason, there was no pressure with her. He felt lighter. A little less fearful of his own body. 

When he went home, he masturbated for the first time. It was really weird. He wasn't sure how to move his hand, or what the correct rhythm was, but it was better. He thought of some cute young boy his age and didn't feel bad about it. Maybe it would go back to feeling alien the next day, but he was still a little euphoric and everything was good.

*

He didn't dream about sex that night. He didn't remember what the dream was about, except the vague notion that it had something to do with goldfish and nail lacquer.

  
  
  


Moritz didn't think of what it would look like to the other boys that his nails were painted. All he'd thought after Ilse was done was that it looked neat, that Ilse had such steady hands. He'd mostly forgotten about it, though he now recognized he was lucky his father hadn't caught a glimpse of it. 

Still, school. One boy he couldn't name said it first. "Dressed in drag? Are you a faggot now?" He laughed. 

Moritz didn't respond. He tried to ignore everything around him and just focus on his work. He already did so poorly, he didn't need to go and make it worse by being upset. 

The boy shrugged and looked away. "Fine." 

When they were walking home, Melchior asked him if anything was bothering him.

He thought he'd done a better job at hiding it. 

Moritz played with the hem of his shirt. "No, nothing's wrong. Just--school. Do you wanna hang out at the park later?"

"I've got nothing to do for the rest of the day," Melchior said, so they decided to just go straight to the park. It was maybe a ten minute walk.

A minute later they crossed paths with the same boy who'd made fun of Moritz earlier. 

They kept a healthy distance even as he crossed the street perpendicular to Melchior and Moritz's path. He thought nothing would happen.

He was wrong. Moritz definitely heard a muted "fag" come from his mouth. 

Moritz flushed with shame, his fingers dug into his palm. At least he didn't try to approach. He tried to breathe. 

"Moritz? Who was that?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. 

"He-- Was he talking about you or me?" Melchior sounded confused. 

"Me." 

"Oh, is that why you were upset before? Was he bothering you in class? You shouldn't pay attention to people like him," he said. "You're not, anyway. Nail polish doesn't make you weird." 

"Well, that's, uh, that's the thing. W-What if I am?"

"What if you're... homosexual? Oh. I didn't know," Melchior said softly.

"I like both actually. Does that bother you?" 

"No! No, it doesn’t. You're still Moritz. It doesn't change anything." But he was discomfitingly reticent the rest of the day.

*

Moritz caught Melchior staring at him at odd times during class the following day. Just appraising him, like he was trying to penetrate into Moritz's mind. Moritz felt dread wash over him like a thin veneer of sweat, a slow sour salivating in his gut. He'd confessed something that made him an oddity, a virus to good society. God only knew what his parents would say. He was coming to terms with the fact that maybe the majority was simply wrong, and yet they were still weightily felt.

He wished he was as confident in himself as Hanschen, that each opinion held by others about him was their responsibility, not his. He didn't internalize things the same. He wished, maybe, he just liked women alone. 

Yet each time he felt an affection for any man or boy--those he knew in passing, or just historical figures put together in his head with adoration at their seams, Moritz just thought love ought to be left alone by Church and State and mothers and fathers altogether.

*

"Why were you looking at me like that?" Moritz blurted as they walked around the neighborhoods encapsulating both their houses. 

"Like what?" Melchior sounded shocked, like he thought Moritz wouldn't notice. The tips of his ears turned red. Maybe if it hadn't been Melchior staring, he wouldn't have taken notice.

Moritz just looked at him.

"No reason. I know what you're thinking, and it's not because of what you told me! Or, well, it's not because I think you're bad or wrong or am reconsidering our friendship. I know you have anxieties often over this. I still regard you best of, well, anyone."

"Melchior?" Moritz questioned.

He nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"May I just have a hug? It's been a rough time, in some ways, lately."

"Of course. You're like a brother to me and always will be," Melchior mumbled without making eye contact and embraced him. It was warm. His clothes were stiff, and Moritz's fingers played with the cotton unconsciously. 

"Alright. Just don't leave me behind, wherever it is you go."

*

And then he came to tell Moritz he'd had sex with Wendla Bergmann.

Moritz and Wendla hadn't spoken in a fair few years. She was perfectly agreeable last he remembered, and this didn't match at all the curious shattered feeling in his chest. He forced down tears and decided to ignore it.

"I... Tell me more, if you don't mind?"

"Thank you, I really wanted to share it with someone who’s supportive of me...

"It was the most wonderful feeling. Like pure heaven on earth. I think divinity better sits in a woman's body than a statue of a Saint," he murmured the last sentence. "I feel a far greater understanding of myself and others through this. I see everything in a new lens. My favorite works of literature, I wonder now if they are simply metaphor for man's greatest and purest act."

"That sounds... truly amazing, Melchior. If it's not odd to ask, did you take precaution...?"

"With what?"

"Did you take care to avoid a pregnancy?" Moritz asked.

"I... I. Don't know," Melchior's eyes widened.

"What do you mean," Moritz said flatly.

"I didn’t… God, how did you think of that first while _I_ forgot entirely? I thought..."

"Because you were preoccupied with the classic sensations while I remain a rational and chaste virgin," Moritz muttered. It was only half in jest, and usually he wouldn’t make any comment at Melchior’s expense but that feeling of something bad like a subtle yet painful stitch in his side was infecting him with bitterness.

"Well. I'm guessing that Wendla won't know what to do with this, we must tell her immediately. I think it best to talk to Ilse, she'll know what to do," Moritz continued.

"When did you become the logical one?" Melchior said, still not as verbose as usual, probably just from the fact that the greatest day of his life may have also disastrously rendered him an unwed teenage father.

Moritz just sighed, put a hand on his shoulder, and began walking to where he thought Ilse would likely be.

*

The four of them sat in a secluded clearing in between some sections of woods so they could talk in private. It was a little bit Ilse, Moritz, Wendla versus irresponsible Melchior Gabor, but then this was the situation he'd caused.

Wendla knew very little about the situation. She enjoyed the sex greatly but had no idea it could lead to pregnancy. Ilse glared at Melchior when she told them so, nimble fingers stroking Wendla's hair to comfort the girl.

"'Kay. You didn't pull out at all or maybe consider doing any one of millions of sex acts without a pregnancy risk despite writing a full essay on the general facts of sexual intercourse, meaning you were well aware of the implications. Good job."

"I know-- It's bad, I don't know why I did that... I got so caught up in--" Melchior began.

"Whatever, I'm sorry, we have limited time before Wendla has to go home. You can apologize to her later," Ilse snapped. Then, a little nicer, "I know you didn't intend for this to happen. For now, just focus on mitigating the disaster."

"What are the chances I got pregnant, just from one time?" Wendla questioned.

"Probably more than you'd like to know, I'm not sure of the numbers. But the symptoms are missing your period, watch for that, then having morning sickness and vomiting often. You must tell us more about the situation as it progresses." Ilse made heavy eye contact with her to emphasize the point.

"I'm sure my mother will know what to do, I mean, she had me--"

"No," Moritz said, speaking up for the first time in a few minutes. "You can't tell your parents. It won't end up well for anyone. These things are shameful, and when it comes to shame, conservative parents are known for doing cruel things to preserve their status. Do not tell your mother. I fear how she'd treat you. We'll give you the best support we can, I know I-Ilse is very knowledgeable about it." 

"Yes," Ilse agrees, "it's really unfortunate but your parents might kick you out, or, or pay for a back-alley abortion--" 

"A what?"

"A surgery, kind of, to get rid of the fetus before it's born. They're very dangerous when done in secret by people with little in the way of proper equipment or medicine, and you generally can’t convince a real doctor to do one. There's a good chance you would just die of complications."

"Okay, avoid that then," Melchior muttered to himself. "I'll go to the library, do more research on how to help you without a doctor available. It's the least I can do," he flushed. "And-- If you need money, or help, I'll do anything you ask, I swear."

Ilse nodded. "Good."

Wendla seemed conflicted on how to behave with Melchior. All she said was "Alright, I might take you up on that."

*

As they each began the journey back home, Wendla took the opportunity to tap Moritz and speak to him briefly.

"I wanted to say thank you. Ilse kind of told me it's you who made us all come here and worried about my possibly being pregnant? I think maybe I'm angry at Melchior now. I need time to figure it out... Anyway, this has been... enlightening. You're a good friend, Moritz."

*

A week later, Ilse informed Moritz of the good news: Wendla had had her period. A crisis was narrowly escaped. Moritz thought next time he passed Wendla, he'd hug her.

He and Melchior discussed it later. It showed incredible stupidity on Melchior's part, on a scale Moritz had never played witness to previous, but it made sense. The boy was always a little like that; very into philosophy and science and every new thing he could get his hands on, yet startlingly little was thought through and not recklessly tried and added to the list of Melchior's Ever So Revolutionary Actions. 

Still, Melchior was his best friend. He made a mistake and was clearly suffering for it. In classes he was quiet (rare and disquieting when everyone in class counted on him to ramble about academic topics tangentially related to their coursework and occupy their instructor for tens of minutes at a time--Melchior was one of those students). When with Moritz, his moroseness pervaded every look he gave the trees, houses, Moritz himself.

"Melchior, my parents aren't home. Come to mine?"

"Okay." Melchior would usually have said more than that.

Moritz led them silently up to his bedroom. He glanced once more at his closest friend's purple eye sockets and lifeless complexion.

"Come lay with me."

Melchior coughed a little. "What?"

"We're mature enough to be less beholden to society's little things about men lest they be labeled a homosexual, aren't we? If we both know it's platonic, there's nothing strange about it. You look miserable and fatigued. Lay down."

Melchior opened his mouth to protest before bowing his head forward in defeat. He laid down over the covers on his side, and Moritz retrieved a quilt to place over both of them. He laid behind Melchior, nose pressed into his hair. "Talk to me."

"...I thought I knew a lot. I do well in school, always. I've explored beyond what polite society would consider appropriate sciences. I don't understand why I made that mistake, why you of all people had to point it out to me before I even realized. I just got so caught up in the excitement of this new thing and forgot to be reasonable. I could've caused... something horrible. And now it's just..."

Moritz put his arm over Melchior and settled in closer, sharing his warmth.

"Alright. The truth is, you fucked up." This event had been good, a little, for Moritz's surety in himself. Funny how that worked. "You definitely need to work to make up for that and ensure it never happens again. But you shouldn't spend your life in misery... You're still competent. Sometimes otherwise intelligent people make mistakes, even big ones."

"Okay." He sounded like he was trying to stay awake and listen. 

Moritz thought sleep was a better use of time. Except those dreams from lifetimes ago, sleeping always made him feel better emotionally. "I memorized some new poetry. Wanna hear it?" he spoke softly.

"Mhm..."

"Okay, this one is Lord Byron. ‘'Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout all countries of the Catholic persuasion...'"

*

It felt like life came off pause a little bit. Things were better in some ways, worse in others. He felt less inferior to Melchior following the incident, but those feelings were back again. Little butterflies, hope mixed with subtle dolorosity. A curious yearning for something else out of reach.

*

They walked silently, enjoying the chirps of crickets and the scent of rain on lawn. It was a uniquely perfect temperature and Moritz wanted to bask in it. 

He and Melchior walked closer together, now. They kept a leisurely pace and held hands without needing to discuss it aloud. Things were serene.

Except when that awful classmate of his passed by again and shouted a slur at them. 

Moritz flinched. Really? He himself was kind of over it. He just assumed the world moved on too, but evidently it did not. 

Melchior walked in his direction without changing speed. "Fuck off," he said. 

"I'll talk to your goddamn parents, maybe don't threaten me." 

Melchior laughed. "Tell them what? That I do well in school, keep a close relationship with a boy they view as a second son, and that I'm not fucking stupid like you are?" 

Moritz kept quiet. For Melchior, maybe, that threat meant little. For Moritz, though...

"Whatever. This is the degeneracy the government needs to punish." And he walked away. Moritz grabbed the back of Melchior's collar to stop him from throwing hands. 

"Melchior..." he whispered. "Don't antagonize him. If my father found out..." 

Melchior's eyes lit up in understanding. "Okay. Okay, I won't. Let's just... Are your parents home? Can we go to yours?"

"They won't be home for a bit, yeah, you can come over."

They relaxed in his bed, and Moritz thought about his father. He was a nightmare human and it was only made up for by the fact that he was hardly home. Moritz would move out as soon as possible and pray nothing awful happened till then.

*

"Wanna read that part of As You Like It again?" Melchior offered. 

"Again?" Moritz laughed. "But yeah. I know you love that book." 

Who else would do this for Melchior? he wondered. Another Wendla coming along and not being annoyed when Melchior wanted to recite his favorite plays aloud and mime out the more dramatic actions? And then talk about it, of course. Talk and talk and talk, all new things, little quirks of language. 

Moritz thought he could just watch his throat make syllables and never lose that feeling of bemusement and wonder and home.

*****

Ilse looked disapprovingly at him.

"I don't think it's healthy to pine after someone like you'll never have any other prospects. Melchior doesn't have to be it for you. Like, I know if you asked Martha on a date she'd totally say yes."

"I, uh, what?" Moritz thought he'd stopped stuttering for the most part. Obviously not.

"Really? 'Moritz and Melchior sittin' in a tree: K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then--"

"Nope. Nope, no. That's not. No."

How much panic showed on his face? Ilse continued, "No, no, it's okay, Moritz. Sometimes you have crushes on people. What's wrong with that?"

"I don't have a crush on Melchior. Seriously." 

"Okay, fine, whatever! I'm just saying, theoretically, if you did, that maybe it's not healthy to have a straight boy crush like that. Not when you're so close. I'm gonna level with you, I've had straight girl crushes before. They're not romantic, or tragically beautiful, they just suck. It's best to put some distance between you and... that. I'm saying this because I literally love you, Ritzy."

"...Ritzy?"

"I just said that emotional, meaningful stuff based on my own fraught past and a deep concern for you, and you're fucked up on 'Ritzy,'" she deadpanned. 

"No, I... get what you're saying. It's just, we're closer than ever. I feel so happy with our friendship. I think that's because I love him that that happened. I don't wanna have to distance myself and lose that. Besides, is there really no hope he's gay?"

Ilse frowned. "Easy solution: maybe you should ask him that. Then you can decide the best course of action; whether to ask him out or stop pining over straight boy ass."

"Ilse! I can't just... No, yeah, I can." He sighed. "You're right. I guess I'll just... do that."

"Okay. Also, I wanted to tell you about another thing..."

*

"Melchior, are you straight?"

He was quiet for a minute, and Moritz tried only half-successfully to quell his nerves. 

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Oh. Were you... ever gonna tell me?" And Moritz feels a little hurt. And he probably shouldn't, he doesn't have a monopoly on queerness and Melchior doesn't have to tell him everything, but. He just thought he would've.

"Yeah. But I still don't even know? After Wendla, and maybe before that, I don't know. I thought sometimes... Well, Wendla made me reevaluate things. I'm not so eager to go out and experience those things because, you know, look what a disaster I nearly caused. I wanted to think things through more before committing to anything actual. And you know how I get, with the poetry... It made me think I have no idea what love is," Melchior babbled like a fountain.

Moritz was going to ask for clarification, but on second thought, maybe he knew?

"Yeah... I'm just asking because, or, hm. I don't know." Ilse would not be proud of him.

*

He knocked on the family Gabor's door at half past eleven o'clock at night. He thought he must look quite a sight, maybe bruising on the face (he hadn’t bothered to check), definitely half-soaked from the rain

Frau Gabor opened the door a few moments later, clearly half-embraced by sleep. He spared a thought Still, she didn’t express annoyance at his late visit, just said, “Oh, dear. That Rentier again?” and sighed. He just nodded. “Melchior, get down here!” she shouted in the direction of his door. Moritz winced at the loud noise at such a late hour. He wasn’t here to be a nuisance, he just needed to get away. 

Ah, well. There was a reason he considered her an adoptive mother. She immediately started the stove on for tea and he sat at the table, half-collapsed in exhaustion. 

Finally Melchior appeared and, seeing him, made his way to sit opposite Moritz. “Your father returned, then?”

“Yeah. I didn’t do anything.”

“I wasn’t thinking of blaming you, Moritz. Even if you were an incorrigible brat I don’t think it would excuse the way your father behaves.”

“Alright.”

Frau Gabor set a cup of tea before him, and he took a moment to thank her and just hoped she could hear his sincerity. 

“You can sleep in Melchior’s room. I don’t want you to have to go back home tonight,” she said.

The three of them stood in silence for a few minutes, only interrupted by Moritz drinking his tea. Frau Gabor left, then, to her bedroom, trusting that Melchior would take care of their guest who she saw as something of a second son.

Finally Moritz placed his cup by the sink and went into Melchior’s bedroom, Melchior close behind him. 

“I need to speak to you,” Moritz said softly. “Ilse gave me the advice of doing this so that things can go one of two ways, for the sake of my sanity. So I suppose I shall, and I admit it’s been weighing on me, too. I am… painfully fond of you, Melchior. We have already established that my sexuality is what it is, and… God. Fuck. I love you a little bit, and this is me asking if you could too, or if I should give up and move on.”

Moritz watched Melchior carefully for a reaction, and gasped a little when Melchior took both of his hands and stepped into his space. They shared air for one, two breaths and then Melchior leaned in a few inches further and they kissed. It was sweet and a little bit sleepy, given the late hour. 

“Let me touch your hair?” Melchior asked, leading him to the bed.

“Of course.” And he let himself fall asleep in the sound of thunder and rainfall and the feeling of warmth and, for a short period of time, no more questions.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it doesn't seem terribly like there were a bunch of concepts that I started and never finished, but if it does, that's because there were--I wrote this over a period of several months with large stretches in between where my mindset changed a lot. If anyone sees any mistakes or wants to ask questions about why I did what or whatever, please do, I love that stuff. Also, my tumblr's @narcissus-phinea, if you care. It's really unorganized because I literally can't figure out how to use tumblr, and very... random, but still. 
> 
> :)


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